star light, star bright
by rainmcfae
Summary: England did not want to be at France's fancy party with his fancy ballroom and his fancy French wine, and he most certainly did not want to dance with France. But France, it seemed, never really cared what England wanted.


**title**- star light, star bright  
><strong>characters<strong>- england, france, brief mentions of others  
><strong>pairing<strong>- france / england  
><strong>genre<strong>- romance  
><strong>rating<strong>- k+  
><strong>summary<strong>- england did not want to be at france's fancy party with his fancy ballroom and his fancy french wine, and he most certainly did not want to _dance_ with france. but france, it seemed, never really cared what england wanted.

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><p><em><strong>star light, star bright<strong>_

**[ **_first star i see tonight _**]**

It is, England will admit, a beautiful ballroom. The grandiose chandeliers dangling from the high ceiling glittered like crystal stars, sending shards of light onto the polished mahogany floors. Long oak tables were placed at the sides of the rooms, covered with bottles and glasses of various wines and other alcohols. At the front of the room, a small orchestra played the smooth notes of a minuet as various nations milled around the ballroom floor, some drinking, some dancing, some merely chatting.

And some, like England, sulking at the fact they were here in the first place. At least, England thought, he was not the only one not exactly pleased to be here. Germany, dragged onto the dance floor by an ever-enthusiastic Italy, seemed slightly happy but mostly just utterly confused and embarrassed and extremely awkward. Austria was standing in a corner, a resigned, tired, _I-have-a-horrible-migraine-can-I-please-just-go-home_ look on his face as he watched a cackling Prussia drag Hungary away (both of them probably dead drunk, England mused absentmindedly). Romano, bad-tempered as always, sat scowling at the back of the room with a glass of wine in his hand (though the look on his face seemed to indicate he'd rather smash the glass in someone's face than drink it).

Yes, England was glad he was not the only one not quite enjoying this party. It most certainly _wasn't _because he was antisocial (_no, not at all, _) or because he didn't enjoy these sorts of more refined parties - after all, he was a gentleman. No, it was more the fact that most of the attending nations complete idiots and most said complete idiots were dead drunk, _and _the fact that this party was hosted by none other than that bloody frog France. In fact, the only good thing about this party seemed to be the free alcohol.

If it had been up to England, he wouldn't have even been here in the first place. The moment he got that fancy invitation in his mail, he had the urge to toss it in the fire. Unfortunately, it was spring and there was no fire lit, so he settled for tossing it in the trash can. And that would have been the end of it, except somehow his boss found out about the party and ordered him to go to "improve bilateral relations." He scoffed angrily and downed another glass of wine as he looked out over the ballroom floor and scowled. "Improve bilateral relations." Well, France seemed quite busy _"improving bilateral relations" _with Seychelles at the moment.

God dammit, he really wanted to leave. Another glass of wine downed. It wasn't like he was going to do anything here anyway. Another glass. Why was he even drinking this wine, it was French and it tasted absolutely disgusting. Another.

The last notes of the minuet drifted away, and England scowled as he watched France end his dance with Seychelles with a peck on the cheek (_it was most certainly not because he was jealous, no not at all, he was just pitying poor Seychelles and he was certainly not watching France and he's just drunk yes that's it he really needs to leave_). Yes, leave. Leave leave leave, that would be nice. The half-finished glass of wine is slammed on the tabletop as England made his way to the door.

He almost got there too. Three feet, two feet - and wavy blond hair and sky blue eyes and a bright (_beautiful - no no no not beautiful absolutely not he's a little drunk that's all) _smile invaded his vision. England groaned mentally and tried to shove past the French nation, but he was drunk and France was not weak and so it was not all so successful.

"Ah, _Angleterre_, surely you are not leaving already!" France laughed as he caught his rival's arm. "The night is still young - although I see you have already managed to get yourself dead drunk, _non_?"

The English nation scowled and yanked his arm out of the other nation's hold. "Belt up, you bloody frog, I am _not_ 'dead drunk.' And yes, I _am_ leaving, so if you would just _move-_"

"_Non_, I don't think so!" France cut him off with a wry smile. "You have not even danced, _mon cher!_ Come, dance with me."

England gaped and almost gagged. "Why the bloody hell would I want to do that?"

France lifted an eyebrow. "A real _gentleman_ would not refuse a request to dance," he drawled, his voice lightly taunting.

And of course, England took the bait and spluttered. "Yes, w-well…well there's no way I'm going to dance with _you_! Especially not in a crowded ballroom!"

A light laugh. "Oh, come now, _mon cher_, surely you are not worried about that! After all, _Allemagne_ and _Italie_ are dancing as well, _non_?"

"Yes, well everyone knows _they're_ together or whatever the bloody hell they say!" England retorted. "Either way, I am most certainly not dancing with you in front of all these people."

France sighed dramatically. "You wound me, _mon cher Angleterre_. Very well."

England blinked and stared. "…What? Seriously? That's it?"

A smile - and if England had not been drunk, perhaps he would have noticed the mischievous glint in the other nation's eye. "Of course. I cannot force you to dance with me in here."

The first notes of a waltz floated through the air.

"So we shall dance outside instead!"

"What? No, you bloody bastard-"

France merely laughed as he dragged a spluttering, indignant England toward the door.

**[** _i wish i may, i wish i might _**]**

It was a beautiful night. The full moon hung bright in the ink black sky, and thousands upon thousands of stars glittered, casting light into the garden. It was a beautiful garden too, with tall hedges and blood-red roses surrounding a little grass clearing, just close enough to the building to hear the drifting melody of the waltz. They were in that clearing now, France with his ever-present smile and England with his ever-present scowl.

England did not want to be out here, even if it was a lovely, lovely night and this was a lovely, lovely garden. This could be heaven for all he cared but he did not want to be here with France right in front of him (_practically touching him, too close, far too close_), taking his hand and putting another on his side-

"What do you think you're doing, frog?" England muttered, too tired and maybe just a little too drunk to argue anymore (_or maybe it was that he didn't mind- no, no, that wasn't it, not it all_).

"This is how you waltz, _oui_?" France replied smugly. "You _do _know how to waltz?"

He could still find the strength to scowl. "Of course I know how to waltz, you idiot. Why do I have to be the woman?"

France laughed (_it sounded like bells, England thought_) and plucked England's hand off the other nation's side and dropped it on his shoulder. "I was the one who asked to dance, so it is only fair that I get to choose."

England was about to shoot back a retort, but then France began the dance and suddenly they were pressed together, right against each other, and he found he could not speak at all. France stepped forward and he stepped back and before long they fell in step, dancing slowly as the faint notes of the waltz slipped around them, creating their own little world, and before long everything else seemed like a blur and it was just him and that wavy blond hair and those smiling, sky-blue eyes.

It was not a long dance, yet as they slowed England found he was out of breath anyway and maybe his cheeks were just a little bit red (_it was only because he was a little drunk, yes, that was it_) and the bells were tinkling in his head again, soft and beautiful, as France laughed lightly. And then France's lips were on his and he froze in shock and he most certainly did not lean into that kiss that tasted of that horrid French wine, and he most certainly was not disappointed when that bloody frog pulled back with a gentle, beautiful smile.

"Thank you for the dance, _mon cher_."

He does not reply, only licks his lips lightly as he thinks that perhaps French wine does not taste so bad after all.

**[ **_have the wish i wish tonight _**]**

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><p><strong>notes-<strong>

written for a fic trade with my dear friend zee, who is **tiffanyblue41** here on fanfiction - go check out her stories, she's an amazing writer!

this is unedited, so feel free to point out any mistakes i made! i would be more than happy to fix them.

**translations-**

_Angleterre _(French) - England  
><em>Non <em>(French) - No  
><em>Mon cher <em>(French) - My dear  
><em>Allemagne <em>(French) - Germany  
><em>Italie <em>(French) - Italy  
><em>Oui <em>(French) - Yes

**reviews make me very, very happy!**


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